hey you with the pretty face
by Cela Fille
Summary: ... welcome to the human race / or, &we were just teens in love. a series of drabbles ; assorted pairings. for sami.


My first attempt in the Victorious fandom, so we'll see how this goes.

For iloveyou123 for writing such mindblowingly fantastic stories for the 'Clique' and making me fall in love with Jade/Beck and Tori/Andre and everything in between.

(Also, the use of "Aladdin" was something I picked up from reading other stories in this fandom. I didn't mean to plagiarize or anything)

* * *

><p><strong>hey you with the pretty face; welcome to the human race<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Sunday morning rain is falling<em>  
><em>Steal some covers share some skin<em>  
><em>Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable<em>  
><em>You twist to fit the mold that I am in<em>

- sunday morning, maroon 5

* * *

><p>It's funny, Beck thinks, that mornings can be so idyllic for a couple as fucked up as them. Sunlight streams thickly through the ratty organza curtains and casts a bronze glow on everything and the air in the RV is heavy and warm and lazy. And it's moments like these when Beck feels like the luckiest guy in the entire freaking world because only he gets to see Jade when she's asleep- looking like a china doll with bright fractured rainbows across her pale face, more fragile and vulnerable than any front she puts on when she's at Hollywood Arts or anywhere else for that matter.<p>

He takes a moment to admire her pale, lithe body as she twists sleepily in the cotton bed sheet that barely covered her naked form and smiles when she languidly stretches and opens her icy blue eyes.

"Watching me while I'm sleeping? Creep," she scoffs, yanking the sheets away from him to wrap around herself. "Go away."

"Wakin' up too early, maybe we can sleep in. Makin' banana pancakes, pretend like it's the weekend now. We can pretend it all the time, dear. Can't you see that it's just raining? Ain't no need to go outside," he sings softly into her loose curls because he knows that Jack Johnson is one of the few things she _doesn't _hate but she kicks him anyway.

"Shut up, Aladdin. It's not raining," she mumbles, shutting her eyes with a scowl.

He laughs and she pushes him off the bed and goes back to sleep.

Just another day in Jade and Beck land. And he would have it no other way.

* * *

><p><em>Sun is shinin' in the sky <em>

_There ain't a cloud in sight, it's stopped rainin'_

_Everybody's in their play and don't you know_

_It's a beautiful new day, hey hey hey _

- mr. blue sky, elo

* * *

><p>"Hi Robbie!"<p>

"Go away, Cat," he mumbles, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly down the empty hallway. It was just one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right. He had gotten a D on his one-act play for his Playwriting course about a puppet named Chester who comes to life and takes over the world, Rex had bullied him mercilessly during lunch until he finally decided to throw him into the parking lot, only to have him run over by Sikowitz's car (Rex was _so _going to kill him when he came back from the hospital) and to make it worse, the editors of 'The Slap' got rid of his Reviews segment from his blog and replaced him with some freshman because he wrote a not-so-complimentary review on the Editor-in-Chief's acapella performance at the last talent show. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to say that he sounded like a dying cat with tonsillitis...

"I made you a snickerdoodle since you're upset," Cat says smiling blankly like some stupid, red-haired angel because obviously she doesn't understand the concept of _go away _and he can't help but smile just a little bit. "Like the cookie. Because I don't think doodles can snicker. Or… maybe snickers like to doodle? I didn't know that Snickers knew how to doodle. I like Snickers, they're yummy. Except this one time, my brother ate a Snickers bar and then he got hives and couldn't really breathe because apparently he's deathly allergic to nuts but its okay now because I stabbed him with this pen thing that had healing powers-"

"An EpiPen?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she cries, furrowing her eyebrows like she's about to cry and he just laughs and slips his fingers between her own. Leave it to Cat to make all the bad things go away.

"Nothing, Cat. Nothing at all."

* * *

><p><em>You make me dance like a fool<em>  
><em>Forget how to breathe<em>  
><em>Shine like gold <em>  
><em>buzz like a bee<em>  
><em>Just the thought of you can drive me wild<em>  
><em>Oh, you make me smile<em>

- smile, uncle kracker

* * *

><p>They say that happiness runs in a circular motion. The wise monks in Tibet inscribed it in ancient Buddhist scrolls centuries ago... or was it just the tagline for that funky Cheerios ad?<p>

Well, whoever it was, they were wrong, Andre realizes. Because that didn't make sense at all. Does it mean that you are happy once and then at some point become happy again? Or when you're happy, are you supposed to stay that way, moving around in an endless circle of perfect, confectionery goodness? In any case, it didn't really matter, because every moment spent with her was unadulterated, unexplainable happiness, shot straight to the vein.

Like this, on sweltering midsummer afternoons when the air conditioning is on full blast and there are empty Ben&Jerry's cartons littering the coffee tables and Tori is barefoot and sprawled out on the couch and he's just jamming away on his portable keyboard, playing short, lazy tunes he's making up on the spot.

"Andre…" she whines, but it's not shrill like Trina's or ditzy like Cat's or threatening like Jade's. "Make the heat go away."

"Yeah, I should probably leave the room. I'm too hot to handle, right?" he jokes and she throws her handheld fan at him but misses and knocks over an empty lemonade can.

"Sing me something," she says randomly and he shuts his eyes for a moment before playing the opening to Aerosmith's _Don't Wanna Miss A Thing. _He sings all the way through and she's quiet, listening and playing with the hem of her bright orange shirt.

"That was pretty," she says finally and he scoffs indignantly.

"My voice is _not_ pretty. Manly, yes. Smooth as silk, yes. Rich and creamy like melting chocolate, yes. Pretty? Hell to the no."

"I still say pretty," Tori smiles-

( It reminds him of cool, damp grass massaging bare feet, little girls in tulle skirts, carnivals, butterscotch and just maybe a hint of magic )

-and he kind of just forgives her then and there.

* * *

><p>Reviews are like cheesecake. Or pretty scarves. Or Avan Jogia. You know, just can't get enough.<p> 


End file.
